Psychotic
by Aika09
Summary: Sometimes, the scars of abuse can never fade, no matter what the person may have wanted. Gaara-centric, with nonconsensual, incestuous Gaara/Kankurou. Yaoi smut.


**_AN: Warning everybody. VERY graphic violence followed by fairly graphic nonconsensual sex. Oh, and incest. And yaoi. Don't ask me where this came from, I don't know. If I had any sense, I wouldn't even bother posting it, but there you go. No editing and written in maybe an hour. Never looking back._**

Once upon a time, Gaara had dreaded dreams. Dreaming meant sleep and sleep meant the Shuukaku would wholly take over his own body and wreak massacres. On one hand, he hadn't minded that. On the other, he had no desire to lose his own sense of self quite so permanently.

And then, of course, he had rejected the unbalanced psychosis and slaughter he had once embraced to fight the demon within him. He bent it to his own will.

But now… Now that he was free, he dreaded his dreams more than ever.

The blackness threaded red streams of impossible crimson, sweltering his blind vision with boiling bloodlust. It flooded his mind, cresting quickly and bowling him over with the sheer force of its sweet, sweet aroma. The thick dark hung over him like a heavy sweat and it felt sluggish to even take a step, but the puce rivulets hung suspended before him, keeping him ever captivated.

The bodies were endless, stretching as far as his eyes could penetrate and likely even further than that. Automatically, his eyes focused in on various bodies, observing the horrific details. A man, tall with lanky blond hair lay at an awkward angle, foot sticking out backwards and bone protruding in splinters from the inner ankle. His hair was sticky, hunks scattering the ground and matted with partially dried blood still emptying from the crushed skull. One eye was closed, another wide open (was the eyelid missing?), rolled back into his head and sticky blood oozing from the corners of the sockets where the tears should have been. His right arm was nowhere to be seen. Shirt gone, pants torn, the body was ripped, scratched, muddy, bloody and only a hunk of gore. No heart beat.

_Kankurou_.

Another body lay not far away, female this time. Facedown, it was hard to determine the person, but that bright pink hair was unmistakable. Her right arm was twisted inward underneath her before having been forced through her own heart and sticking out the back. The bloody droplets were still dangling from her broken fingertips. Her left arm was spread-eagled out from her body, a deep cut splitting it nearly in half all the way down. She was naked, pale skin gleaming despite the almost nonexistent light and it was obvious that she'd been raped. Over and over, before and after her death. Her legs were twisted far too far apart and both knees looked broken. He resisted the urge to vomit.

_Haruno_.

More bodies of those he recognized and many he did not. Every time he turned there was more death, more blood, more black, more demon.

But worse, so much worse, was that it felt right.

Every time he woke up, the world was calm and bright, full of hope and possibilities.

Every time he fell back into sleep, he dreamed of the same abusive, torturous violence that he had always known.

The comforting familiarity of the bitter visions disgusted him, made him want claw out his eyes, his very mind, and yet he could not. His whole self, body and soul, shied for the concept of self-sacrifice or personal death. He could not accept his dreamself nor could he not accept it.

When there were none around to watch, he blissfully embraced it.

When none were around to witness, he sliced through his own flesh in his horror.

With no one around, he laughed as he rent his own skin.

He probably should have had more friends. Maybe if he had, he could have fixed these dreams, the last gift of the Shuukaku.

How could he imagine living without the beast?

It had defined him his whole life. It was that creature's fault he could claim no ties to any individuals. It was the creature's fault he had power. That he was respected despite being hated. That he had become the Kazekage. That he had ever gotten anyone's attention. That he had had power.

He wanted it back.

He hated himself for wanting it back.

He _dreamed_.

"I am your mother," the slithery voice hissed. "Why do you not seek me out? Do you not want what I offered you? What I gave you more freely than any mortal has received? Don't you know you were the only one strong enough to tame me?" The voice was soft, velvety, seductive. It was slippery, untrustworthy certainly, but more than that, it was compelling. "I am the darkness that destroys your soul. Do you fear me? Or do you _long _for such destruction? Is there any hope for your broken mind except in me?" It was so close, right next to his ear and he shivered, in spite of himself.

"I…" His voice trailed off. Eyes flashed red and they were still deeply encircled with the black of sleepless years. "I want to kill again… I want to know the taste of blood again."

"Let us kill them, then," it whispered. "All we have to do is kill those that stand in our way. Kill them all and find me. You were the best host I ever had."

Crimson rained throughout his vision and he exulted in it. It dripped through his hair, his clothes, slicing skin as it contacted and puddling the ground. His own blood mingled with the reddish rain and he gloried in that too.

The voice laughed him into wakefulness.

He launched upward, flinging from the sheets and overshooting the edge of the bed to crash onto the floor. Not even bothering to seek out the bathroom, he vomited onto the hardwood floor.

How could he possibly want that thing?

He retched, over and over, even when there was nothing but dry heaves left.

A knock on the door. "Kazekage-sama?" Gaara looked up to see Kankurou enter. His vision automatically overlaid the image from his dream and he bent back over, dry heaving again.

"Gaara?" Kankurou rushed over, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder. They _had _been getting closer lately.

"Don't touch me," Gaara ground out, hand reaching up swiftly to grab Kankurou's neck without even looking up.

The offending hand was quickly removed. "Gaara, what's wrong?"

"Shut up," he growled.

Kankurou shut up, holding still as he waited for Gaara to release him.

Gaara looked up, eyes bloodshot and locked his gaze onto the unfortunate Kankurou's. "You're going to regret having come in here."

Kankurou said nothing, but definitely looked a bit worried.

Smiling viciously, Gaara lunged forward, lips forced onto Kankurou's and knocking the blonde flat onto his back. Kankurou's mouth parted slightly in surprise and suddenly Gaara's tongue was ravaging it, dipping in and out as he kissed his brother hard into the floor, one hand still secure around his neck.

"…Gaara," Kankurou slurred, trying ineffectually to interrupt what could only be described as assault.

"I told you to shut up," he growled. He kissed him again, the free hand moving down to grasp at Kankurou's crotch. He rubbed it hard, grabbing firmly through the loose pants. Kankurou gasped into Gaara's mouth in surprised pleasure. Hot pleasure coiled in Gaara's stomach at the sound and he slid the hand up Kankurou's shirt, kneading the bare skin and continuing to kiss the unwilling man. He stroked his chest briefly before sliding the hand down Kankurou's pants. Grabbing him again, he used his thumb to stroke Kankurou, who was gasping again and definitely getting erect in his hand.

"Gaara, this is wrong."

"Don't care, now shut up," he ground out, squeezing at Kankurou's throat again. Not that Kankurou was putting up much resistance any more. He moaned into Gaara after a particularly amazing pull.

Gaara ground his hips against Kankurou, shoving his own erect member against Kankurou's, surprising himself at the pleasure that shot up his limbs at the act. He did it again, harder, and drawing another moan out of Kankurou. "So, so wrong…"

But Gaara didn't care and was pounding a new rhythm into Kankurou's body, shoving over and over into the floor as he thrust downward again and again. Moving both hands, he pulled down Kankurou's pants, kissing his ear, _sucking _on the lobe and suddenly Kankurou's hips were thrusting _back_.

Quickly, he pulled down his own until both were naked from the waist down and he was nibbling on Kankurou's neck. Hands on Kankurou's waist, he quickly flipped the blonde onto his front. He slid a finger deep inside the waiting hole after wetting it in his mouth briefly. Kankurou was gasping again as he realized what was happening, but the sheer _pleasure _he was in kept him from arguing as Gaara removed the finger quickly. Using his hands as a brace, Gaara didn't even hesitate as he thrust his whole erection deep, deep into Kankurou. Kankurou screamed, but Gaara found that even more arousing. The blood was dripping now, he felt it and his eyes gleamed in the early morning rays of dawn. He pulled back slightly and thrust back in, forcing Kankurou hard onto the hardwood floor. Over and over, he thrust in and out, feeling the pleasure build at the tight friction and the warmth. Kankurou screamed, over and over and Gaara was even grinning as he shoved in and in and deeper still.

"G-gaara!"

"Do you want it, Kankurou? Do you?" he whispered.

Kankurou didn't answer and Gaara slid his hand around to grasp the throbbing member. He stroked it slowly, ever so slowly… "Do you?"

Kankurou whimpered, still not answering.

Gaara thrust in again and nibbled on his earlobe. "Answer me." This time, voice a deadly whisper. He pulled out quite a ways and held, waiting.

"Yes," he finally answered, a tortured whisper.

Laughing, Gaara removed himself completely and then thrust the entire length inside, straight to that point of greatest pleasure, driving him to the floor for the last time as the hot pleasure exploded in fireworks behind Kankurou's eyes. "Yes, you came," he whispered, thrusting a few more times in triumph as he reached his own shuddering climax.

He withdrew himself from Kankurou's bruised body. "Now get out," he whispered.

Quickly and silently, Kankurou retrieved his pants and fled the room, speaking not a word.

"Now get out!" he screamed. "Get out, get out, GET OUT!"

There was no reply.

"Get away from me!"

He ripped at his hair, pulling, punching, clawing to escape.

But there was none.


End file.
